Friday, September 26, 2014

Nighthawks

The ground on which I am
standing is part of a massive Jack Pine barren near Whitefish Point,
Michigan.It stretches for miles in all
directions.It appears at first glance
to be devoid of life, but looks can be deceiving.I know that Jack Pine barrens to the south
(where Kirtland’s Warblers nest) are excellent habitat for Common Nighthawk, so
my friend Drew and I decide to revisit the barrens after dark to try to find
some of these nocturnal birds.

It is ten at night when we
return, and the first fifteen minutes yield neither sight nor sound of a
nighthawk.I’m surprised: I thought for
sure there would be nighthawks out here.Despite the lack of nighthawks, there are other birds around.Drew and I identify the “tewtewtew” call of a
Greater Yellowlegs coming from Andrus Lake.We are both rather bemused at a shorebird calling this late at
night.An American Robin calls up
ahead.So far we have heard a shorebird
and a thrush, but no nighthawks!

Ten minutes later, Drew and
I hear what we are listening for: the distant “peent” of a Common
Nighthawk.A few seconds later it calls
again, this time much closer than before.Each time, the calls get louder and louder, until the bird is right
above us.Now the sound is painfully
loud.I raise my hands to cover my ears
when suddenly, the loudest peent yet is accompanied by a deep, rumbling
WHOOM—the very ground seems to vibrate with the intensity of it.The bird flies away, the calls getting softer
and softer, sparing our eardrums.

Immediately, several more
nighthawks start calling all around us.None of them, for now, is as close as the first, but I suspect that is
because these birds are patrolling the edges of their territories, warning off
potential intruders (In fact Sarah, another friend, observes the birds flying
in irregular circles the next night, tracing what must be the boundaries of
their territories).We walk about a
hundred paces, then hear a nighthawk start displaying closeby.We search the sky, by now illuminated only by
the pale light of a gibbous moon, for any trace of the bird.We meet with no luck until the sound has
reached a painful volume.The instant an
enormous WHOOM sounds, the North Star is blacked out for a fraction of a
second.It must be a coincidence, I
think to myself.

This nighthawk does not stop
calling as the others have.I listen as
the calls get quieter and farther away, then closer and louder, until once
again they have reached that nearly unbearable pitch.Then, WHOOM! Once again, the instant I feel
the vibrations, Polaris is blocked out.I exhale in amazement, and Drew says he saw it too.Still the bird calls, and this time we’re
watching Polaris closely, seeing if it will be blocked out once more.We anticipate the moment of the next boom,
and to our surprise, the North Star disappears for the third time!

I find it amazing that birds
can migrate to and from their breeding and wintering grounds successfully, so I
am stunned that a Common Nighthawk could navigate with such precision to
“WHOOM” within the same tiny area, three times in a row!Did it use the stars to work its magic, or
did it use landmarks, or a mental map of its territory?We don’t know for sure, and we decide to
content ourselves with being there to see it.